The Unbearable Weight of Truths Untold
by MinaBR
Summary: "Don't part with your illusions, when they are gone, you may still exist, but you have ceased to live." Mark Twain. Her illusions perished under the tyranny of the truth. The girl was trapped, but the woman was meant to be free.
1. Enfance

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I just steal her characters for my own warped purposes.**

**AN:** This story **CAN **be read as a standalone, but it is part of the universe of "The Tyranny of Unintended Consequences". Should you choose not to read TToUC, you can read this story and see events exclusively from Bella's perspective.

It's a short drabble and the plot unfolds on England's extended regency period. It updates twice a day, unless a catastrophe takes place.

There is a blog for this story: **thetruthsuntold(dot)blogspot(dot)com(dot)br**

I hope you enjoy.

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"_Childhood lives reality in the only honest way, which is taking it as a fantasy." - Agustina Bessa-Luís._

Once upon a time there was a beautiful princess who was admired and loved by all. She lived on a comfortable castle with her doting mother. There were laughter and hugs, they were happy and whole. For three years they lived on a paradise of their own, away from the father the princess never met.

But the princess' safe haven was about to crumble. In London, she met her father, the most beautiful man in the world. They spent time together and she was happier than ever, for the first time she truly had a family. Everything would have been perfect had her mother refrained from turning into an evil witch.

The princess discovered that she was nothing but a little girl, like so many others. What had once been a loving home was transformed into a dungeon where punishments were freely delivered whenever the girl failed to rise up to her mother's expectations. The little girl was no longer allowed to play, smile or laugh. She was to become a paragon of beauty and grace, an embodiment of perfection.

She strived to be what her mother wanted; clinging to the vain hope that maybe then she would be loved again. Years passed and her mother was never satisfied, so she turned to God and prayed for her father to come and rescue her. It would be many years before she ever saw him again.

One day her father sent a blond little boy to her. Her mother called him bastard and kept them apart. Until one day when he crept into her bed and she enfolded him into her warm embrace, and for years they were each other's only source of affection.

Life went on a routine of harsh punishments for the boy and increasingly indifference for the girl. Until it was disrupted by her mother's disappearance, something that brought only relief to the weary little hearts of the children. Their peace did not last for long, for her father reappeared some time later. He did not pay the children any attention, going about his business whatever they were.

The same night of her father's return Jacob was tore from her arms by the doctor that from time to time came to visit her mother. They said hasty goodbyes and their little hearts broke, for twelve years would pass before the two halves could be made one again.

Some days later an old man came and took her hand, making her a princess again. She went to live a better life, on a bigger castle where she was spoiled by an overindulgent great-grandfather. She had everything and for the next six years she was happy like never before.

Then she met her betrothed and little by little she became me, the disillusioned wife, the barren mother, the loveless lover. Uncovering hidden truths was the downfall of my innocence and the beginning of my bleak existence.

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**See you later.**


	2. À première vue

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I just steal her characters for my own warped purposes.**

Blog: thetruthsuntold(dot)blogspot(dot)com(dot)br

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"_Whoever loved who loved not at first sight?" - Christopher Marlowe._

The first time I saw him I was walking down Bond Street on my way to the milliner. He was tall, broad shouldered, brown eyed and blond haired. There was an air of command about him, a general that instead of an army commanded attention. Like the magnetic stones my governess was so found of, all eyes were drawn to him, mine included.

He was like an entity coming out of my dreams to torment my waking life. So dashing that my young heart, fluttered uncontrollably, my cheeks were stained with an unwelcomed blush and my body felt oddly restless. I just stopped walking, so transfixed by the vision of a man that was the same tormentor of my unconscious thoughts and yet somehow felt different, as a blurred image of who he should have been. He never noticed the chit openly gaping at him.

From his arm dangled the most unwelcome accessory, a blond woman, beautifully dressed even if her features already showed the passing of her prime. Eyeing me disdainfully, she smirked evilly and caressed the man's face, a bold move that had more than one onlooker gasping in astonished horror. Her intent was clear even to my inexperienced self. The woman had ascertained her ownership of the man.

The reason behind such a blatant display of defiance was unclear to me, for I was just a young miss barely seventeen and her husband seemed very absorbed with her. Puzzled I turned to my abigail, but she was flirting with the footman, hence her lack of comment on my uncharacteristic actions.

"Pay 'er no 'eed, she is just jealous."* The scratchy cockney voice came from the dark alley behind me. Startled I whirled around expecting to see the face of a footpad or a beggar. What I saw was the face of a woman aged beyond her years. Her beauty, if she ever had some, had long faded but her eyes gleamed with wisdom and kindness.

Under normal circumstances I would have been tempted to walk away from any stranger that addressed me, after all it wasn't proper for a lady to make conversation with someone to whom she had not been introduced to. That's what I had been taught by an endless queue of starched governesses. Much to my great-grandpapa's displeasure I could not bring myself to disregard other people, be servants or cockneys, just because of their station. If our circumstances were reverse I would have appreciated being treated with respect. So I always had a smile for everyone, be the person a peer or a servant.

"She feels freatened 'cause she kna that soon yew'll be marryin' da duke."* The woman's speech was almost incomprehensible to my ears, yet being surrounded by servants I managed to get the gist of the conversation. I thought the woman insane, of course. But I was still a girl, not yet out of the schoolroom and given to fancies as so many others of my age. So, I just stood there silently urging the woman to continue with her little rant.

"A long time ago, 'e came ter me. I taught 'im abaht pleasin' min an' wimmen, yew won't be disappoin'ed."* Probably seeing how bewildered I was, the woman chuckled softly.

"Bloody Lords always leavin' their misses in ignorance."* I just stared at her dismayed appearance, wondering if perhaps the poor woman was slow minded.

"Just listen sweeffeart, that geezer is da Duke of Whitlock. Yer two'll marry, aw da fancies kna that. And I've seen it. Don't forget that true luv is on yar destiny's paff, yar survival depends upon yar faiff."*

Holding my face between her roughened hands she kissed my forehead and wished me luck. Fading into the darkness, the woman disappeared from my life as abruptly as she had appeared.

It was the only friendly advice I've ever received.

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**AN1: **These phrases are in cockney (a dialect spoken on the East End of London, associated with the working class).

"_Pay 'er no 'eed, she is just jealous." – _Pay her no heed, she is just jealous.

"_She feels freatened 'cause she kna that soon yew'll be marryin' da duke." – _She feels threatened because she knows that soon you will be marring the Duke.

"_A long time ago, 'e came ter me. I taught 'im abaht pleasin' min an' wimmen, yew won't be disappoin'ed." – _A long time ago, he came to me. I taught him about peasing men and women, you will not be disappointed.

"_Bloody Lords always leavin' their misses in ignorance." – _Bloody Lors always leaving their misses in ignorance.

"_Just listen sweeffeart, that geezer is da Duke of Whitlock. Yer two'll marry, aw da fancies kna that. And I've seen it. Don't forget that true luv is on yar destiny's paff, yar survival depends upon yar faiff." – _Just listen sweetheart, that man is the Duke of Whitlock. You two will married, all the fancies know that. And I've seen it. Don't forget that true love is on your path, your survival depends upon your faith.

Sources for cockney:

www(dot)cockneyrhymingslang(dot)co(dot)uk

www(dot)rinkwords(dot)com/dialect/

www(dot)whoohoo(dot)co(dot)uk/main(dot)asp

**AN2: **To those of you who read TToUC – the cockney woman is Alice, the prostitute who educated Jasper on sex (See chapter 15).

**See you tomorrow.**


	3. Mémoire

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I just steal her characters for my own warped purposes.**

Blog: thetruthsuntold(dot)blogspot(dot)com(dot)br

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"_The leaves of memory seemed to make_

_A mournful rustling in the dark." - Henry Wadsworth Longfellow._

Later that day, I sat on the garden's bench, brooding over the matter of my betrothal. Many years ago a triumphant Esme had announced my impending nuptials to a Duke whose name had been completely obliterated from my mind, for some reason I could not completely understand. My memories of that day are fuzzy at best, but I remember the tears that ran down my childhood companion's face, Jacob, the one memory I have never managed to suppress.

From the first time the scared little child stepped inside my house, he captured my heart. The high and mighty seven year old me tried her best to protect the little boy from Esme's brutality, but it was to no avail. Only with Esme's descent into insanity did we know a little piece of paradise, short lived as it was. Shaking my head, I pushed the memories to the back of my mind. There was no use in dwelling on the madness of my mother or the absence of the little boy I loved beyond reason.

Living in hell, the future seems too much of an impossibility to merit any thought. And for years hell had been my home. But the future was fast approaching; it was no longer a menace far away in time. Soon, I would be out of my great-grandpapa's protective wings and under the ruling of a complete stranger. The prospect should not alarm me; after all I had been well prepared to fulfill my role in life.

I wasn't afraid, in all truth I was terrified. If the strange woman had the right of it, I was to be married to the most intimidating man I had ever seen. Though I made a good show of concealing it the idea of marriage was upsetting to me, for even my tender years didn't protect me from the disdain my father directed at my mother, on the only time I ever saw them together. Going to London had been my mother's attempt at finally capturing her husband's attention, but she was doomed to fail.

To some extent, my father also loathed me for reasons I have never been able to comprehend. My father's rejection tore at my mother's heart and on her eyes I saw the determination to prevent me from ever suffering that kind of pain. Her split mind had a twisted way to carry on her plans, robbing my childhood and punishing anything perceived as a failure. I've never hated her, for I know she meant well, but she became sick and it would be unfair of me to hold the illness against her.

My mother always thought herself unlovable and worthless, and despite great-grandpapa's affection I always feared I had inherited whatever quality made my mother unacceptable to other people's affection. It was always sitting on the back of my mind, the eagerness to be esteemed.

At that point, I felt that my future had finally caught up with me and it was time to face a difficult conversation. I would beg great-grandpapa to allow me to cry-off the betrothal.

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**See you later.**


	4. L'accord

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I just steal her characters for my own warped purposes.**

Blog: thetruthsuntold(dot)blogspot(dot)com(dot)br

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"_Oft expectation fails, and most oft where most it promises; and oft it hits where hope is coldest; and despair most sits." – William Shakespeare._

Great-grandpapa was nowhere to be seen. The man staring back at me was the mighty Earl of Swan, the facet of great-grandpapa I rarely got to see. There was no tenderness on his gaze just shrewdness, a man evaluating his opponent. For a long time he remained silent, his face a cold mask that betrayed no emotion. I fidgeted, twisted my hands on my lap, bit my lip; my future was at stake and I was afraid of hearing the verdict.

Finally, his shoulders relaxed and his eyes shinned with affection; great-grandpapa had returned. On his lips the smile that he always had whenever he was about to indulge me. Sagging with relief, I threw myself on his lap and hugged him, showering kisses on his face.

It wasn't exactly proper for a girl of my age to display affection so openly, but great-grandpapa never admonished me, secretly he relished all the adoration I directed at him.

"There now, young miss. Do not get too happy. I am not giving you leave to end the betrothal, I will be allowing you one season before it is fulfilled. If, by the end of the season, you find yourself an acceptable suitor willing to propose, you will have my permission to cry-off. Otherwise, you will be married to the Duke."

"But papa, I do not wish to be married at all. Please..."

"No point in arguing, dear child. I'm old and I'm dying and you will need someone to watch over you. The world is not genteel to spinsters. Besides you are the child of a Baron, you should be elated by the prospect of marrying a Duke. It is my final offer, what do you say, my sweet?"

A good strategist knows when to retreat, and a great strategist knows when defeat is inevitable. I smiled docilely and thanked great-grandpapa for the opportunity of enjoying a season. Sighing inwardly, I wondered if I should just accept my fate and endure a marriage of convenience.

A part of me wanted the dreams of love evoked by the torrid romances I was so fond of reading. She was the pampered girl within me, my public façade. Concealed by layers of self-protection, there was a little girl, so afraid of rejection that she wished to never take risks. To both of them the idea of marrying a coveted man was distressing, for the possibility of getting hurt was very real.

Lying to myself I refused to acknowledge what had truly happened on that street. My heart had accelerated and sweat gathered on the palms of my hands. A coil formed in my belly and my breasts felt different. It wasn't like the novels where the damsel always swoons upon meeting the hero. I was absolutely aware of everything, my senses heightened, and my body ready for something unknown to my naive mind.

Looking back I realize that I was afraid of the desire the mere sight of my betrothed had stirred deep within me, for somehow I knew he would never be truly mine.

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**See you tomorrow.**


	5. La reunión

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I just steal her characters for my own warped purposes.**

Blog: thetruthsuntold(dot)blogspot(dot)com(dot)br

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"_We cannot change our past. We cannot change the fact that people act in a certain way. We cannot change the inevitable. The only thing we can do is play on the one string we have, and that is our attitude." – Charles R. Swindoll._

Soon I was drowning in a sea of silk and ribbons, overwhelmed by everything that having a season entailed. Had it not been by aunt Renée's support and guidance I would have happily declined from entering the world of the ton. Married to my Granduncle, the heir to the earldom, Renée had only one child, a boy whom I never met. She was elated by the prospect of presenting me to polite society, not in the least resenting her role as a chaperone.

My lessons in etiquette were doubled and a dance tutor was hired, so I could practice the steps of the waltz. I no longer had the time to read quietly on the library or to study the subjects that really interested me. Aunt Renée thanked the heavens for that, for she assured me that no man wanted a bluestocking. I never considered myself one I was just curious about a myriad of things and being an unmarried girl didn't afford much liberty. The experiences denied to my eyes could only be lived through the pages of a book.

Sometimes, during the endless fittings at the French modiste, whose accent was questionable, I would allow my mind to wonder to a place where it made no difference if you were born a girl or a boy. I dreamed of having the same liberty a man had, the same possibilities. On my fantasies I was a barrister arguing cases before the court, defending the helpless, changing lives with the power of my speech. But I was just a young woman of the aristocracy, my only achievement would be breeding an heir to my husband's title.

Those thoughts always left me empty inside. Becoming a brood mare might be tolerable if there was love between the spouses. However, that presented another problem, for there could be no guarantee that love would last a lifetime. The pain of a lost love would be magnified by the constant presence of the person who had spurned you. At this point in my ramblings, my head always hurt and my heart twisted; I could never decide which possibility would be worst, never knowing love or after having it, lose it.

So distracted by my musings I failed to realize the blond woman standing right in front of me, her scornful gaze settled on my overly abundant bosom. Self-conscious about my unfashionable figure, I tried to cover myself while the woman's whole body thrummed with something that could only be described as hate. I stammered a request for her to remove herself from the private room I was currently occupying. She simply remained unmoving, mumbling something about "flawless" and "every man's taste". Dumbfound, I ceased all motion and finally took a good look at her face. It took some time for my mind to process that before me stood my betrothed's mistress.

Instead of cowering like I had been doing, I drew a breath and squared my shoulders. As haughty and proud as I managed to be I stared down my nose, calling for Mme. LeBlanc to kindly remove the filth from her shop.

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**See you later.**


	6. Le sourire

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I just steal her characters for my own warped purposes.**

Blog: thetruthsuntold(dot)blogspot(dot)com(dot)br

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"_His smile is like the silver plate on a coffin." – John Philpot Curran._

Her eyes blazing with fury, she lunged at me. I'm sure she would have plucked my eyes from the orbs had she been given half a chance. I swiftly dodged her attack, stepping aside while she tumbled to the floor. The commotion had attracted the attention of the other patronesses and soon a crowd observed the shrieking woman while she tried to untangle herself free from her skirts.

Fortunately, I spotted a dressing gown and hastily covered myself with it, trying to maintain as much dignity as possible given the situation. However, I was unprepared for the man who strolled inside the dressing room. Before my eyes the Duke of Whitlock pulled the woman up and thrusting her out, bid her to wait for him on the street. Yelling a foul word, she yanked the door opened and left. It was the last time I ever saw her.

Sighing, the Duke turned to me with a polite smile and what I believe was an apology on his lips. The apology would go forever unheard, the second his eyes met mine, what had been polite interest turned to blazing fire. And for the first time I was hit by the full force of his dimpled smile. Something inside me melted and changed, truly content, like a desperate person who long ago issued a call and had finally been answered.

Our connection lasted but a moment, but on those fleeting seconds our souls recognized each other. At the time I was too inexperienced to recognize the bond for it was, preferring to believe myself destined to love the Duke. The piercing voice of a reproachful Renée dispelled the magic, once again we were two strangers caught on an awkward situation. Bowing politely he expressed his deepest regrets for the role scene. Recognizing the man as my betrothed, Renée cannily accepted his apologies on the behalf of Lady Isabella Cullen-Swan, as I was largely known as deference to great-grandpapa.

Turning crimson with embarrassment, the Duke conveyed once again his sorrow for the whole incident, strategically inserting the information that the woman would be properly disposed of. Back then I did not understand that he was promising to break his relationship with the blond courtesan. Respectfully bowing to me, his eyes avoided the sight of me.

Hurt by his disregard, I had to fight back the tears that unbidden had come to my eyes. The fear of not being considered good enough came out of nowhere, for I should not care about the Duke's opinion, since I intended to avoid marriage to him at all cost. Misinterpreting my distress, Aunt Renée tried to sooth me by saying that every man seeks his pleasure with a mistress and it was unbecoming for a lady to comment on it.

"Besides, you are beautiful Isabella. Not on the fashionable way, that much is true. But you have the kind of beauty that makes a man loose his mind and fall to his knees. Use it wisely and you shall have everything you wish."

From Aunt Renée I had just discovered that I was indeed beautiful, however her assessment that it would bring me my heart's desire could not have been farther from the truth.

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**See you tomorrow.**


	7. Le deuil

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I just steal her characters for my own warped purposes.**

Blog: thetruthsuntold(dot)blogspot(dot)com(dot)br

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"_If you suppress grief too much it can well redouble." - Molière_

Everything was in place for my coming out party when it happened. One moment Aunt Renée was humming with energy, barking orders to cowering servants. A blink of an eye later she was writhing on the floor, clutching at her chest. Next, there was just silence and the certainty of an untimely death. My wide eyes refused to close and my stubborn feet could not walk away. The grief so intense that, instead of ravaging pain, I felt nothing. My mind refused to acknowledge what I had just seen.

Strangely, these emotions weren't unfamiliar to me. An image of a bloodied body and a smirking man hovering over it flashed through my brain. It was too quick to place it, but I was sure it was something that I had witnessed with my own eyes. And that was the key that unlocked the grief. The intensity of my own emotions ravaged my body and I fell to the floor, guttural sobs wrenched from my soul mourned not only my dear aunt but also the body of some unknown person.

I struggled with all my mighty but eventually the servants overpowered me and at great-gradpapa's command some laudanum was forced down my throat. Even on my drugged sleep nightmares of pain and loss intruded; there was no respite from my troubled self. Three days later, I emerged from my room. I wasn't feeling any better, but at least my mask of polite sadness was firmly in place. Grand demonstrations of sentiments were discouraged and emotional outbursts were considered gaudy.

Great-grandpapa was extremely fond of Aunt Renée, so he ordered the entire family away from London. We were to mourn her death on the Earl of Swan country estate. Usually, the rules of mourning didn't prevent the men from attending social affairs. Nevertheless, great-grandpapa held the purse strings and if he wanted the family united in grief, my relatives would abide to his wishes; some even cried crocodile tears.

As for me, there was no big sacrifice in staying on the country. I always enjoyed the green scenery that reminded so much of my childhood home and the boy I had loved with all my heart. As for my season, great-grandpapa assured me I could have one next year.

Venturing into the forest I discovered a beautiful meadow surrounding a pound. There I spent my afternoons reading treatises and novels, learning and dreaming of dark eyed, blond haired romantic heroes that looked like the betrothed I had just met. Until the point that little separated my imagined lovers from the real man.

However, there was something different about the Duke of my dreams. He was younger and untouched by vices; his smile sweeter and friendlier; his countenance inviting rather than frightening. My onyric Duke was my best friend, my companion, the other half of my soul, as indispensable as breathing. Yes, my dreams conjured up the Duke of Whitlock, yet at the same time he was not himself but the projection of a memory and a sight yet to be seen.

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**See you later.**


	8. Cauchemars

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I just steal her characters for my own warped purposes.**

Blog: thetruthsuntold(dot)blogspot(dot)com(dot)br

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"_My sleep wasn't peaceful, though. I have the sense of emerging from a world of dark, haunted places where I traveled alone." – Suzanne Collins._

Anguished screams pierced the stillness of the night. There was a tone of desperation and pain, like a howl of a wounded animal. The voice was mine but at the same time it was not, for it resembled the high pitched sound of my childhood. It had been this way for the past three months, since Aunt Renée's death.

I was trembling and sweating, hugging my knees and saying my father's name, over and over. I saw my father dead on his bed, his body ravaged, his eyes opened staring at me from the dark pools of the dead. It didn't make any sense, my father died of a heart attack right after my mother's carriage accident. But that was the romanticized version of the events, as I was about to find out.

That night I wasn't comforted by my Abigail, great-grandpapa came. Dismissing the servant, he locked the door and took a good look at me.

"You are dreaming of him, are you not sweet child? I always feared your memory might come back some day. I had hopes that your dreams would fade and this loathsome subject would never taint your innocent ears. But now I see there is no hope."

He sat on the bed and put me on his knee, pushing my head on his shoulder, he tenderly caressed my hair, just as one would do to a frightened child. I was still trembling but was doing my best to hold on to my control.

"Dearest child, your mother killed herself. Not a very bright girl that one, threw herself from the cliffs. It took your father more than a week to come to the house and attend to her funeral. The night after her burial your father was savagely murdered on his bed. You were found on a corner of the room, behind the curtains. For three days you answered to no one, the servants told me. When I arrived, you took one look at me and ran into my arms. You never spoke of what you had seen, so I assumed you had forgotten. And I thanked the Lord for that blessing, but I see it was short lived."

"Why would someone kill my father? Why ..."

"Hush, my love. There is no need to get into details, suffice to say that your mother was good for nothing and your father was not a good man. A lot of strings were pulled and favours were called, but I managed to keep the true circumstances of their deaths a secret, it was imperative that no hint of scandal ever stained your good name. Fret not, my child, thankfully, you have nothing of them in you. You are like your Grandmama, my daughter, pure and sweet."

"Was he ever caught, papa?"

"The killer? No, my love. It could have been anyone and truth be told nobody cared to look into the matter. The affair was discreetly handled and put behind us. Now, you must do the same, my sweet. You know what happened, so there is no more need to wreck your pretty little head for an explanation. Let it out of your mind."

He kissed my forehead and left. The dreams never stopped, but I learned to keep my screams tightly concealed inside my own head.

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**See you tomorrow.**


	9. Le soupirant

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I just steal her characters for my own warped purposes.**

Blog: thetruthsuntold(dot)blogspot(dot)com(dot)br

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"_Bring hither by thy shouts, O lord of wealth, the suitor, bend his mind towards her; turn thou the right side of every agreeable suitor towards (her)!" – Atharda Veda._

Cousin Angela, an elderly distant relation, had been delegated the task of presenting me. The allure of having a season had long ago faded; discovering the tragedies of my past had dimmed my enthusiasm; I pushed through out of self-preservation. My coming out ball had been unremarkable, at least to me. However, nobody else seemed to agree with my assessment, since my great-grandpapa's drawing room was always bursting with callers of the male variety.

Nevertheless, my would-be-suitors failed to capture my attention, for none seemed to be trustworthy. At that time my standards were pretty low, or so I thought. I wanted a respectful man, who would never gamble away his fortune. He had to be discreet about his love affairs, I didn't want to ever feel the humiliation of seeing another woman on his arm. But, the most important requirement was that he would never be to conquer my affections. The men I had been introduced to were colorless enough that I would never fall for them; however they were mostly dandies, prone to whoring and gambling.

Deflated, I was almost accepting my future as the Duke of Whitlock's bride when I met him, the Italian Count, Marcus D'Volturi. He was a mild-tempered widower in desperate need of producing an heir. A man in his mid-forties, he was kind, unpretentious and never attempted to woo me. Instead, we had stimulating conversations, even about things a gentleman is not supposed to mention to a lady. He treated me respectfully and never made empty declarations or false promises. Life with him would have been like a lazy Sunday afternoon, calm and undemanding.

It was only two weeks into the season and I had already made my selection. Marcus would give me peace, security and would never threaten my heart. I had been duly instructed by Aunt Renée on the fine art of encouraging a suitor, I even used her trick of thinking of something rather scandalous in order to blush whenever he was in the vicinity, so he would know I noticed him.

At Lady Stanley's ball Marcus asked me to sneak away with him for a few minutes. Heart hammering more in apprehension than in excitement I agreed. There he gave me my first kiss. It was sweet and when it was over I wasn't in a hurry to repeat the experience. It was nothing like I had imagined on my daydreams, but it was exactly what I had planned to find on my waking hours. He declared his intention to call on great-gradpapa on the morrow and ask for my hand. I was pleased if not elated.

However, destiny would not allow me to have the life I had planned. It would interfere on the form of a calling card on a silver tray announcing the Duke of Whitlock's presence on a suspiciously empty drawing room.

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**See you later.**


	10. Monsieur le Duc

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I just steal her characters for my own warped purposes.**

Blog: thetruthsuntold(dot)blogspot(dot)com(dot)br

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"_Youth is easily deceived because it is quick to hope." – Aristotle._

Dashingly attired, impeccably behaved, surprisingly charming, utterly irresistible. I was just a girl completely unprepared to resist a rogue thoroughly schooled on the arts of seduction. Even then, on some remote part of my mind, warning bells were signalling the perils of allowing the Duke to ensnare me on his web. After years of silence, to be the center of his undivided attentions was devastating to my senses.

He was the Prince Charming to my inner princess and for the second time his smile devastated my defences and my face stretched on a smile so ridiculously infatuated that it was impossible not to see the effect he had on me. He never insulted my intellect by denying that he had scared away the other callers, instead he showed deep regard for my wishes by promising not to enforce the betrothal. His eyes glinted wickedly when he assured me that I would be his wife not because of a signed piece of paper, but out of own volition. Most importantly, he made it clear that he no longer had a mistress.

Putting his arm around me, he kissed my cheek. It was fast and innocent enough, but it left my body tingling with unfamiliar heat. I blushed furiously watching his retreating figure. He still frightened me, for there was something blatantly powerful about him, yet there were delightful promises lingering on his dark eyes. Like a moth to a flame, I knew that his closeness would mean my downfall, yet I had hope. Foolish hopes of surviving his campaign and winning the war for his affection.

For the first time, I allowed myself to contemplate the idea of finding love within his arms, to be forever bestowed with the warmth of his attentions. All his smiles would be mine, his touches upon my body. My entire being ached for that image, however I was still afraid, for there was the very real possibility that I would not be able to engage his affections.

I had never given much thought to my looks, not until Aunt Renée pointed it out to me. However, it was the admiration on the men's eyes that gave me the confidence that my aunt spoke the truth. I was not shallow enough to believe that my beauty would sway his heart, but it certainly was enough to hold his attention, at least for some time. I'd use all the time my looks afforded me to make him fall in love. The price for my hand would be the surrender of his heart, nothing else would convince me to wed the Duke.

But I was too innocent to realize what a dangerous game I was playing, gambling away my heart despite the best warnings of my inner wisdom. The delusions of youth prevented me for seeing what should have been blatantly clear to me; the Duke would win, no matter how much I applied myself to the game. He was older, more experienced and ruthless. Like a Viking he would pillage my heart and destroy whatever part of me he could not possess.

* * *

**See you tomorrow.**


	11. Jeux de séduction

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I just steal her characters for my own warped purposes.**

Blog: thetruthsuntold(dot)blogspot(dot)com(dot)br

* * *

"_A thousand hearts beat happily; and when _

_Music arose with its voluptuous swell,_

_Soft eyes look'd love to eyes which spake again,_

_And all went merry as a marriage bell." - Lord Byron._

Vouchers to Almack's, deliveries of flowers and candies, rides to the park, nightly appearances on the same events I chose to attend, the Duke of Whitlock's campaign to win my affections was nothing if not throughout. He was everywhere, attending to my every whim, anticipating my necessities, being the perfect suitor. My foolish heart would always stutter whenever he approached me, quieting only after he was long gone.

Dear Marcus fought to win me over, however his meagre charms were not enough to diverge my romantic fancies from the handsome Duke. He was never intimidated by the Duke like my other suitors were; he was a strong in his own right, even if his power was a bit understated. Marcus was also very wise, when he said goodbye sorrow simmered on his eyes. At the time I thought he was lamenting loosing me; his parting words would only be fully comprehended by me a year after my marriage. He said he was sorry he could not save me from my destiny, but if I ever managed to save myself, he would receive me with arms wide opened.

My sadness only lasted only a moment, for the Duke swept me into a vigorous waltz. We had danced before, but never like we did that night. Our bodies moved as one, our steps fluid and a lingering feeling of unspoken promises enraptured my senses on a dream like state. He guided me to the gardens and on a dark, secluded spot he introduced me to passion. His mouth descended on mine, hungry demanding. Never asking for permission, simply taking whatever he wanted.

His knee parted my legs rubbing deliciously on my mysteriously wet private parts. His hands sought the strings of my bodice and soon my upper body was bared to his sight. The feeling of his mouth on my breast left me panting and aching, yearning for something I could not name. His eyes stared into mine, smouldering desire. Kneeling before me, he made no declarations of love, simply pushing my skirts up while his tongue caressed me intimately, showing me the sweet oblivion of satisfaction for the first time.

Afterwards, he enveloped me on his strong arms, murmuring deliciously wicked things on my innocent ears. Expertly rearranging my clothes, he guided me back to the ballroom, a possessive glint on his eye. And just like that he conquered my will, by using my undiscovered sexuality as a weapon. Believing that what I had seen on his eyes was love, I willingly surrendered to him. I didn't know the difference between love and lust, desire and affection; it was a lesson that would be learned only on the arms of another man.

* * *

**See you later.**


	12. L'amour d'un ami

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I just steal her characters for my own warped purposes.**

Blog: thetruthsuntold(dot)blogspot(dot)com(dot)br

* * *

"_Those who do not weep, do not see." – Victor Hugo._

We danced a waltz of sorrow and grief. My ignorance only heightened the unmovable sense of deprivation and my heart wept for reasons unknown. His eyes contemplated me with all the hollowness of loss, his and mine. It was a moment suspended in time where we joined and mourned what could never be ours. Our words were few and lacking the depth of our shared pain. The feelings that poured out of our hearts needed no words to be understood. What my mind could not yet grasp, my heart fully appreciated and sympathised with, for soon I would feel a fraction of the devastation burning his soul.

It was the first time we met and the only time we danced. Edward, the Earl of Masen, to the world he was my fiancé's best friend. However, even my uninformed mind could sense unspoken moments experienced on the fringes of society, intensity defying the rules of logic, hearts doomed to pretend and deny their own nature. There was a secret they shared, deeper than the one typically protected by the bond of friendship.

There was so much longing within the man holding me that I felt it in my bones. Back then I could not grasp the full meaning of what I saw and felt, the reasons behind his pained gaze were unfathomable to the mind of a gently bred young girl. There were many truths we were protected of, leaving us defenceless against the cruelty of realities our minds were unprepared to deal with.

He meant me no harm, but there was a chilling certainty behind the softly spoken amenities. He knew of my destiny, for he could foresee the path I would walk. I could never understand how, but right there I knew he was sacrificing himself to offer me a chance to find happiness. The loss was his choice and a gift to a girl he barely knew, but wished to protect, nevertheless. He was a beautiful soul, a great man and someone that in another lifetime could have been the love of my life.

When we parted actual tears escaped the confines of my eyes, for that man felt like nobody I had ever met before. No, I could not see beyond the veil impairing my vision, nor through the barriers of the morality hammered into my brain, but the sentiment shinning from his eyes was unmistakable. It would take me a lot of time before I was willing to accept that emotion for what it was, for many rational explanations would come before the mind could accept what the soul promptly understood. The Earl of Masen was in love with my fiancé.

That day marked the beginning of my education on the ways of the world, an unholy learning, completed by the immoral sight that greeted my weary eyes on the stables of my husband's country estate.

* * *

**See you tomorrow.**


	13. La noce

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I just steal her characters for my own warped purposes.**

Blog: thetruthsuntold(dot)blogspot(dot)com(dot)br

* * *

"_So, often in the course_

_Of life's few fleeting years_

_A single pleasure costs_

_The soul a thousand tears." – Francis William Bourdillon._

Proudly Great-grandpapa gave me away to my smiling fiancé; looking at him nobody you doubt that the Duke of Whitlock's young bride was the sole holder of his affections. By his side, the Earl of Masen watched me with sad eyes and I was disconcerted to realize that he wished it could have been him on my place. Why he would desire such a thing was conundrum I didn't care to delve into, especially on my wedding day.

The wedding breakfast would be regarded as the most grandiose feast offered that year. Great-grandpapa was exceedingly pleased by the awed expressions gracing the otherwise jaded faces of the consummated snobs of the ton. I danced and laughed truly delighted with the outcome, I had followed my heart and at the same time honoured great-grandpapa unspoken wish to see me wed to the Duke.

The Duke's eyes were for me alone, so attentive that I couldn't help but blushing furiously. I could see the tension of his body, the anticipation of his gestures. He wanted to be alone with me and do the things Cousin Angela had advised me to endure. However, given our previous tryst I anticipated much joy on my marriage bed. Instead of fearful I was anxious for my husband's arms and the sensual discovery of his body's mysteries.

I was dancing with Great-grandpapa when I noticed the Duke's absence. It worried me for he was gone for a long time before I spotted him again. He reentered the party coming from a balcony from which the Earl of Masen also emerged. The Duke was glowing with barely contained energy, a smile illuminating his handsome face. Tears ran down the Earl's tortured face, on his eyes the heartbreak of a lost love.

My arms itched with the urge to envelope the broken man in the safety of my embrace, to sooth his pain with any balm I could offer. No, I didn't understand the nature of his feelings but his agony was blatantly clear and I wished him no hurt. But I did not know how to act on my wishes without making a scene, so I merely smiled sorrowfully and shed a tear of sympathy when he looked at me. He responded by waving goodbye, something a gentleman must never do, but at that moment no rules of behaviour could mask the finality of his departure.

It would be the last time I would ever see his face, but his shadow would forever hover over my marriage, for we were both victims of the same man, something I would discover only in the future. For the moment I was inclined to bury the odd scene and never think of it again, after all a good wife would never question her husband; and I was determined to be the best wife the Duke could have asked for. That resolution was doomed to be eroded by the unbearable weight of truths untold.

* * *

**See you later.**


	14. Le goûte du profane

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I just steal her characters for my own warped purposes.**

Blog: thetruthsuntold(dot)blogspot(dot)com(dot)br

* * *

"_Because no one has more thirst for earth, for blood, and for ferocious sexuality than the creatures who inhabit cold mirrors." – Alejandra Pizarnik._

Dressed in a demure confection of white silk and pink lace, I nervously waited for my husband's appearance. Despite my enjoyment of his attentions, Cousin Angela's words loudly resonated inside my restless mind. There would be pain and blood, he would grunt like an animal and assault my body, but I should hold the tears until he made it out of my bedchamber, since there was no point in complaining, for suffering a man's lust was every wife's plight. Despite her best intentions on warning me, I felt that my cousin's words were born out of her own discontentment with her husband and not from the reality of every woman's experience.

Lost in my anxieties, I did not realize the approaching figure of my dear husband. Sitting on the bed he put me on his lap and gently running his fingers through my hair, took the time to assuage my fears, explaining what would take place between us. Calmed by his tenderness, I tentatively put my arms around him and kissed his upper lip. He took over the kiss, coaxing my tongue into exploring his own. Gentle hands lifted the gown from my body, leaving me exposed to his perusal. I might have shied away had I not seen the fire of desire burning on his eyes.

Standing up from the bed, he undressed before my hungry eyes. Springing from his body, the male hardness my Cousin had spoken of did not repulse me; instead I felt a unholy desire to run my tongue down its length. Timidly I kneeled on the bed and acted on my impulse, earning a moan of pure delight from my trembling husband. Urging me to lie on my back, he took my nipple within his mouth alternating gentle sucks and long licks. Biting the nipple he had been caressing, he made me find completion just from his ministrations to my sensitive nub.

Male pride smouldered in his eyes and gently he parted my legs, I closed my eyes bracing myself against the pain that was to come. However, I did not feel the hardness of his member but the velvety heat of his tongue collecting the moisture that seeped out of my intimate parts. Then I felt his fingers stretching my passage whilst his mouth sucked the most responsive part of my body. Shuddering with my release I barely felt the pinch of pain signalling the loss of my maidenhead.

Unlike my expectations, he wasn't a barbarian defeating and conquering, his strokes were long and languid, his hands touching my writhing body, eliciting moans of approval from my feverish body. That first time I didn't find sweet oblivion from his lovemaking, but it wasn't unpleasant and upon witnessing his shuddering release I was more than happy to be the one giving him so much pleasure.

He did not leave my bedchamber, he cuddled me, whispering sweet nothings on my ears. A besotted smile on my face, I was content with my transition from blushing bride to thoroughly ravished wife.

* * *

**See you tomorrow.**


	15. Lune de miel

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I just steal her characters for my own warped purposes.**

Blog: thetruthsuntold(dot)blogspot(dot)com(dot)br

* * *

"_It is better to have your head in the clouds, and know where you are... than to breathe the clearer atmosphere bellow them and think that you are in paradise." – Henry David Thoreau._

Jasper exceeded all of my expectations. As many other Ladies of the nobility, I had never been abroad; the world was this deep, dark mystery and even on my wildest dreams I never thought to go beyond the Continent. Of course, seeing the blistering glamour of Paris stimulated my inner simpering girl, for I was as susceptible to pretty babbles and male attention as the next female. My ever protective husband was, of course, less than pleased about all the attention I was garnering, therefore he never left my side.

To my everlasting surprise, he took me to Portugal, Italy and Spain. The war was over, Napoleon had been defeated, so it was safe enough to travel again. Sooner than I would have wished our month was over and it was time to go home. One night, after making love, I was caressing his chest and telling him about how fascinated I was about ancient Egypt and India. I had read many books written by audacious explorers who described in rich details the different cultures and its marvels.

On the morning that followed, Jasper left my side for the first time, claiming to have urgent business to attend to. I was deflated, for he only came back on the evening. But my disappointment did not last for long. He was so attentive to my every need and so obsessed about making all my dreams come true that he stunned me by extending our trip for an undetermined amount of time. I was delighted to walk on the land of the pharaohs; my dear husband even arranged a visit to one richly decorated tomb.

India was beautiful, there was so much history, it was a feast for the eyes. However, it saddened me to realize how poorly the colonialists treated the local population. My heart went to them and for the first time I wished I had been born a man, since I did not have the power to change their conditions. Telling Jasper about my worries did not help either, for he simply chuckled and told me not to worry; it was simply the way of the world. It was extremely condescending and some of the admiration I held for him died and was never revived.

On the bright side, Jasper showed me a world of sensual pleasure and every night he left me panting and drained from the power of his lovemaking. He said we were not to be merely spouses, he needed me to be his lover, to enjoy his embrace and not merely tolerate it out of duty. I had been told that only a harlot would desire intercourse, but my husband assured me that there was nothing more beautiful than the eagerness of my acceptance. For a little while I was torn between my new reality and the things I had been taught. But I chose to be honest with myself and admit that maybe I was a bit of a harlot, but it hardly signified since I was married and my only lover was my dear husband.

* * *

**See you later.**


	16. Le retour

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I just steal her characters for my own warped purposes.**

Blog: thetruthsuntold(dot)blogspot(dot)com(dot)br

* * *

"_But do we know how to make love stay?_

_I can't even think about it. The best I can do is play it day by day." – Tom Robbins._

The last days of my honeymoon were not as dreamy as the others, for my husband had grown anxious to return. Even though he was too polite to make an outright comment, his attention often wondered, the only time he was truly with me was when we were making love.

A dutiful wife would suggest that maybe it would be better to cut the trip short, but I was having too much fun to give that up. Soon I would be breeding and then the chances for prolonged trips would be few, for I intended to be a very participant mother.

Nevertheless, it came the day when we simply had to go back, I missed great-grandpapa and Jasper was eager to see to his business, or so he said. On the trip home he was relaxed and his mood was lighter, even his lovemaking lost the edge of desperation that had marred our last encounters. He was happy and because of that so was his smitten wife, me.

Coming home, we were hit by a whirlwind of invitations. Jasper tried to talk me out of attending the events, for he believed I would be much happier on the country. Puzzled by his reticence, I made it a point to prove how much of an asset to his social standing I could be, if only given the chance. So I dragged an increasingly resistant Jasper to all the most promising gatherings of the ton. Sometimes he managed to smile, even if only for my benefit.

Curiously, our return did nothing to dissipate his nervous energy; if anything it was growing day by day. Sometimes, he would just sit around staring at nothing, like someone waiting for the reappearance of his lifeline. By then I had nothing to go on but my own feelings, in hindsight I can only assume that my observations were startlingly accurate.

I should have been worried, but I was mollified by the Duke's behaviour who, unlike other husbands, did not pay attention to fast women or any women for that matter. Naively, I took his disinterest in females as another prove of his love and devotion to me. Amongst _la crème de la crème_ of society fidelity was not a given, it was a treat very few were blessed to enjoy. And I was only too happy to have been offered that rare gift.

I noticed the coveting looks the men threw me, but was unsettled by them, for no one ever explains to a Lady that once she had been properly married and deflowered, she was considered fair "game" for liaisons. Most of the ladies were delighted by the innuendos, where I was upset by the unwanted attention. Thankfully, we were unfashionably close and Jasper kept the predators at bay.

* * *

**See you tomorrow.**


	17. L'ignorer

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I just steal her characters for my own warped purposes.**

Blog: thetruthsuntold(dot)blogspot(dot)com(dot)br

* * *

_"Spiteful words can hurt your feelings but silence breaks your heart." – Mother Theresa._

Had I been a sophisticated woman I would have thought nothing of attending Lady Clearwater's soirée without my husband's escort, however I was still a green girl, my head filled with romantic notions of marriage. I was hurt but swallowed my reaction fabricating a brilliant smile that my distracted failed to see.

Lady Clearwater was a sneering woman, her tongue was poisonous, mainly because she only spoke the truth and nothing is harder to face than the things you cannot deny. She did not address me directly, but the vindictive harpy made sure I overheard her conversation with another woman.

"No wonder she is alone, he probably is already tired of pretending interest. I bet he is trying to locate his special friend, the Earl. Or maybe not, maybe he found another molly to warm his bed. Perhaps even another woman, since you and I know from experience that he is very inconstant where his appetites are involved."

They laughed and proceeded to swap stories about the Duke's bedroom prowesses. More than half of their conversation was lost on me, specially the "molly" comment, since I had never heard that word before. I had known my husband was no saint but actually listening the type of activities he had engaged in with these women left me nauseated. According to the rules of etiquette I should have remained silent and ignored their comments, however I felt an overwhelming need to wipe the mocking smiles decorating their dissolute faces.

"Hello, ladies. My dear husband is absolutely delicious, isn't he? Too bad that he is mine and I will not be sharing him anytime soon. Furthermore, even if he had the will to stray, I doubt he would have the strength. For instance, right now he is home resting from our afternoon activities, after all he is older than me and I am hard to keep up with. Now that I think of it, I should go home and see to him. Au revoir, chéries."

I turned on my heels and stalked of the room. My heart was pounding and I had the sense of walking on clouds, blind and deaf to the world around me. Truth be told I was appalled at my own behaviour, if great-grandpapa ever heard of it he would be sorely disappointed. It's just that sometimes there was this thing inside me that struggled to get out. I never spoke of it, for I was afraid it was the same kind of madness that my mother had endured.

Coming home, I sought Jasper but he declined my company. And so it began, a series of long nights spent alone, pretending that I was perfectly well whilst my husband indulged in strong spirits on the solitude of his study. His visits to my bed were few and far in between; they lacked passion and afterwards he would simply get up and leave to his own bedchamber. Many times I silently cried and wondered what had gone wrong between us.

* * *

**See you later.**


	18. La fille

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I just steal her characters for my own warped purposes.**

Blog: thetruthsuntold(dot)blogspot(dot)com(dot)br

* * *

"_There are no illegitimate children – only illegitimate parents." – Léon R. Yankwich._

A year passed and the situation between me and my husband did not improve. He rarely left the house, commanding his business from his study. We barely spoke and my attempts to reach out to him were rebuffed by contemptuous glares. But never words, I felt like I did not exist.

One day I came back home to two angry, loud voices. In my drawing room stood my husband and his former mistress, flinging accusations at each other. The object of content was a little bundle abandoned by the door. A beautiful blue eyed baby was there, her eyes glassy but wise enough not to cry for it would do no good since none of the adults seemed inclined to comfort her. The woman wanted an absurd amount of money, the Duke only wanted them gone.

It was obvious I was beholding my husband's illegitimate child. I should have been outraged by the woman's audacity and my husband's lack of respect. However, the adults did not interest me, my only concern was for the unfortunate child who would be branded a bastard, and even worst, a unloved, unwanted one. Like dear Jacob had been. And my heart went to the innocent victim of the parent's mess.

Straightening my spine, I stilled myself against the battle about to take place. I would not allow that woman to use her own child as leverage against my husband; her greedy hands would come out empty. And my dear husband would have to step up and take responsibility for his actions. It would be a hellish arrangement and I was fully aware that by accepting my husband's bastard I would became the object of mockery and the waging tongues of the ton's gossipers would spread all sort of hurtful rumours about how my husband humiliated me by rubbing my nose on his less than tainted sexual history.

As much as I craved approval and admiration, my own feelings would have to be put aside, for I was an adult and as such I could endure whatever the consequences of my actions might be. But a child was defenceless against the world's cruelties and if I could save at least one soul from suffering all that Jacob did, I would be content.

Surprisingly, both parties acceded to my wishes quite easily. Jasper gave some coins to the woman and she departed without even saying goodbye to the child nestled on my arms. I prepared the nursery that I had dreamed would be occupied by my children, but I had begun to suspect that I was barren. So, that little child might be my only chance at motherhood, if so I was going to do my best to be a good mother and give all the love and comfort my own mother had never been able to offer me.

* * *

**See you tomorrow.**


	19. L'amour d'una mère

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I just steal her characters for my own warped purposes.**

Blog: thetruthsuntold(dot)blogspot(dot)com(dot)br

* * *

"_For mother's sake the child was dear, and dearer was the mother for the child." - Samuel Taylor Coleridge._

The nursemaid was weary of my constant visits to Elizabeth. I knew it simply wasn't done, but I couldn't resist the allure of her smiles, her tiny hands that could barely grasp my finger and her beautiful eyes that surprisingly were so much like my own. She was a joy to be around and, no matter what the world might say, she was my baby. The realization came to me one night while I was watching her sleep; she had my heart even though she wasn't born out of my womb.

My marriage was in tatters, for Jasper systematically ignored me and Elizabeth, locking himself on his study. He became a hermit, a shadow on his own house. The once vibrant man was now a body without a soul and I suspected that his soul was wherever the Earl of Masen was. By then I was a little bit worldlier but I still was not ready to see the truth, choosing to chalk up the rumours to defamatory lies. My husband had female lovers and if that wasn't corroboration enough, he even had a daughter to prove his virility.

However, only a tiny part of my mind took stock of Jasper's deterioration, the majority of it was too preoccupied with all things Elizabeth. I took great delight in shocking the ton by taking Elizabeth with me whenever I went shopping or even when I was taking a stroll on the park. I was so proud of _ma petite fille_ that the gossip did not bother me anymore. The insecure little girl I had once been, became strong enough to disregard other people's opinions, for there was no harm done in loving a child.

One time I had even taken her to visit with great-grandpapa, but he was less than pleased. He could not fathom how I could be so cavalier about my husband's bastard and gave me a speech on proper behaviour. I endured it because he was basically my only family and I loved him. Dismayed by his reaction, I never took Elizabeth again on my weekly visits to great-grandpapa.

Some nights, when Jasper did not seek my favours I would sneak into the nursery and take Elizabeth to my bed where I would cuddle her small body and wonder about her future. Unlike other mothers I wasn't thinking of weddings, I just wanted her to be happy even if that meant a bluestocking spinster. There with my baby on my arms I could pretend that everything was right in the world, that I was completely satisfied with the choices I made. On our cocoon of affection our lonely hearts spoke and in each other we found exactly what we needed.

Had I known how little time I had left with my daughter I would have dreamed less and enjoyed her more. My little angel, my lifeline, the one I would never forget.

* * *

**See you later.**


	20. Paradis perdu

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I just steal her characters for my own warped purposes.**

Blog: thetruthsuntold(dot)blogspot(dot)com(dot)br

* * *

_"Love can be more destructive than hate." - Tionne Rogers._

As involved as I was with Elizabeth, I could not help but be worried about Jasper. That's why I suggested that maybe it would be a good idea for us to go to the country. He was excited by the prospect since it had been a while since we visited his properties. Within a week we were packed and ready to go. Elizabeth was a real sweetheart and slept through most of the journey, even the noise of the coaching inn where we stopped for the night barely disturbed her sleep.

We all seemed happier and healthier. The days were warm enough that Elizabeth and I had picnics almost every day. We would lie for hours playing the silly games only mothers and daughters enjoy. My angel vibrated with intelligence and energy, always amazing me with the things she did. Jasper sometimes almost smiled and that gave me hope that maybe things would be good again.

We had been on the country for three weeks when Elizabeth fell with a fever. It was not very high, the nurse maid assured me that soon she would be healthy again. But I was not taking any chances where my child was concerned. I could not summon the village's doctor because I was pretty sure that if I did he wouldn't come. He was of the opinion that women are always fretting about unimportant things and tended to ignore feminine appeals for assistance. So I went looking for my husband.

After half an hour of searching I found him on the stables. He seemed to be crawling on the floor, panting with pain or exertion, I could not tell which. From a place out of my sight, behind my husband I heard a grunt and laboured breath, I thought it was an animal attacking Jasper and I was about to turn on my heels and look for help when I heard a voice asking Jasper if he liked it. I was stunned out of my wits, my body refusing to move forward or retreat.

At first nothing was clear, my mind simply could not grasp what could possibly be happening. Then, it began formulating the most unlikely hypothesis, maybe they were fighting, maybe there was really an animal and the other man was trying to help Jasper, maybe I was losing my mind. As much as I wanted to lie to myself I knew what was happening, for the sounds my husband made were always the same whenever we shared intimacy.

Jasper was serving as a female for another man, the gossipers had it right all along, my husband was a sodomite. My husband was on his hands and knees having his body ravaged by another male. I stood there oddly transfixed by the sight, until I heard they find complexion, the man simply moaning, Jasper grunting Edward's name and saying those three words he had never told me, his wife.

Stepping out of the shadows that concealed me from their view, I looked at the man who still was inside Jasper. He was not Edward, but a simple stable boy. I told him to leave us; he jumped to his feat and left without saying a word. It was time to deal with my husband.

* * *

**See you tomorrow.**


	21. La vérité

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I just steal her characters for my own warped purposes.**

Blog: thetruthsuntold(dot)blogspot(dot)com(dot)br

* * *

"_The pure and simple truth is rarely pure and never simple." - Oscar Wilde._

By watching the grotesque scene between my husband and the stable boy my mind could finally understand what my intuition had been telling me all along. The man who stole my heart could never give me his in return, for it had belonged to another all along. I was simply convenient, a sacrificial lamb on his twisted game of lies and deception. On his eagerness to conceal his real interest he never considered my feelings or Edward's, for that matter.

I could finally understand that Edward had been in love with Jasper, I could only assume that they were lovers at one point. On one hand, I was angry that he had not warned me against Jasper; he allowed me to walk into a hopeless situation without the opportunity to make an informed choice. But, on the other hand he wasn't a conniving manipulator and instead of carry on their affair, like Jasper so obviously wanted, he chose to walk away and give me a real shot at winning my husband's affections. Despite my anger I could see that we both had been victims of Jasper's willingness to conform to society's rules. We all could have been happy if not for my husband's choices.

The man dressing hastily on soiled clothes barely resembled the dashing Duke I had fallen in love with. What I saw was a haggard man who took a fantasy to bed because he had wasted the reality with his disregard. Jasper was a man with no morals and right there all the love I stubbornly still held for him, died to never be reborn again. He tried to talk, certainly offering more lies to explain the scene I had witnessed, but I was deafened by the blood pounding in my veins and blinded by the madness that threatened to surface.

His tone escalated and he was shouting, pleading, shacking me, falling to his knees. He wanted something from me, a reaction, a response. But I could give nothing, for I was too busy fighting the urge to claw at his face and scream all the improper words I was not supposed to know. I felt like some other person was trying to take hold of my body, but at the same time it felt like that said person was me. Little by little, I regained control of myself again and in doing so I looked into my husband's eyes.

There was no pointing in arguing, for no words would change who he was and what he had done. He had trapped me into an impossible situation, forever bound to a make believe marriage. A woman could not walk away from her husband without being labelled a harlot. Besides, I had no means to support myself. A gilded cage for a pampered bird, that was my life. I held my tears and tried not to betray the turmoil within my soul. As self-contained as I could manage to be, I asked him to summon the doctor and left without looking behind.

* * *

**See you later.**


	22. Coeur brisé

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I just steal her characters for my own warped purposes.**

Blog: thetruthsuntold(dot)blogspot(dot)com(dot)br

* * *

_"Don't part with your illusions. When they are gone you may still exist, but you have ceased to live." - Mark Twain._

Elizabeth's health was deteriorating at an astonishing rate, for three days I sat by her bed watching my baby fade away. The doctor had already given up, saying there was nothing else he could do. The last time she ever opened her eyes she told me "I love you, mama" and she never woke up again.

I wasn't merely broken hearted, I was devastated. The unfairness of my baby's death had me weeping and raging, there was no containing my wayward emotions. I clutched her little body and covered her little face with kisses, praying for a miracle that would never come. Jasper pried her away from my arms and tried to comfort me. I did not want false words of superficial meaning; nothing could possible erase the tragedy of a premature death. I pushed him away and locked myself on my bedchamber.

There I stayed curled on my side and allowed the pain to take over sobbing all my despair on the pillows. I wished myself away, falling into a fitful sleep from which I hoped to never rise again. I wanted to die but lacked the courage to take my own life, since sinners never saw heaven and I was sure that my baby had become an angel. Death was never merciful, so I eventually woke up to a life without Elizabeth.

Against all expectations, I attended her funeral. My eyes were dry whilst I stood there watching the cold embrace of the unforgiving dirt. That day I buried the last of my illusions, motherhood. Finding out the truth about my husband had shattered my dreams of love, losing the only child I could mother killed the dreams of holding a baby in my arms. Not a single illusion of mine had been spared from the devastation of reality.

I felt dead inside, like a corpse who forgot to drop to the ground. There was nothing left, not even anger or regret. There were no thoughts in my mind, no emotions in my heart. I felt like a stranger observing myself from a distance. My movements were mechanic, my words devoid of meaning. For a long time I could barely get out of bed, or even be convinced to eat. The servants went out of their way to watch over me, but truth be told their regard annoyed me, for it only highlighted the disregard my own family was showing me.

Great-grandpapa did not even write me a note expressing regret for my loss. Jasper never came to my room or even tried to talk to me. I was abandoned to my own grief, mourning a child no one else seemed to miss. There was no life within me, no burning desire for survival. It was the end of my life and the beginning of my existence.

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**See you tomorrow.**


	23. Vocabulaire

A dear reader pointed out that some expressions should be elucidated. Attending to her request I elaborated the following list. If there is something I missed feel free to PM me and I will include an explanation.

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_Abigail – _Regency slang for a lady's maid.

_Almack's – _a social club in London, where one only gained admittance by buying an annual, non-transferrable voucher, costing ten guineas (roughly U$1.500,00); but first the Patronesses would have to accept the applicant and they were very particular about the members.

_Barrister – _a litigation lawyer. A solicitor was also a lawyer but he dealt with contracts and wills.

_Bâtard – _French for bastard.

_Bedchamber – _bedroom. Usually the couple had two separate bedrooms connected by a door.

_Bluestocking – _a Lady interested in reading and learning, not inclined to frivolous pursuits.

_Bond Street_ – The most fashionable place for shopping and, of course, seeing and be seen.

_Call out – _duel. These affairs happened at dawn and there were seconds to ensure the fairness of the encounter. If a man failed to attend he was labelled a coward. They were illegal but largely practiced.

_Chérie – _French for darling.

_Chit – _a girl who was a bit forward.

_Cockney – _a dialect spoken on the East End of London, associated with the working class.

_Demimonde, belles-du-noit – _prostitute.

_Gaming hell – _a gambling establishment. Unlike a Gentleman's club like White's a gaming hell involved deep play and they weren't exclusive; a gaming hell was a place where classes mingled.

_Governess – _a girl or woman employed to teach and train children on a private household.

_House party – _party at which the guests stayed for several days in a residence. A good hostess would plan activities ranging from hunting to musical presentations.

_La crème da la crème – _the most important member of the _ton._

_Laudanum – _tincture of opium.

_Ma petite fille – _French for my little daughter.

_Modiste – _aFrench dressmaker.

_Molly boy – _Gay man.

_Nursemaid – _a woman employed to take care of a child, until he or she reached school age.

_Nursery – _room or set of rooms appointed for the use of the children.

_Prostitué – _French for male prostitute.

_Season – _The high of social activity in London; it began after Easter and lasted until mid-July. The rest of the year most peers stayed on their country seats, therefore the Season was the time to catch a husband.

_Soirée – _small party held in the evening, usually it includes a musical performance.

_Stable boy – _a servant who cleaned the stables.

_Station – _Social position.

_Ton – _an abbreviation of the French expression _"le bon ton"_, it means polite society. It was constituted mainly of aristocrats and their descendants, who despite lacking a title had breeding.

_Wedding Breakfast – _marriages were celebrated before noon, they commemorated with breakfast.

_Whilst - _archaic form of while used on Regency novels.

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Why so much French? Back then, everything French was regarded as fashionable and refined; I just tried to keep true to the spirit of the time.

Kisses to you all.


	24. Comme des étrangers

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I just steal her characters for my own warped purposes.**

Blog: thetruthsuntold(dot)blogspot(dot)com(dot)br

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"_Absence diminishes little passions and increases great ones, as the wind extinguishes candles and fans a fire." - François de la Rochefoucauld._

A year later I had made my peace with everything life had thrown at me. I was not happy, or even content, but sometimes I could almost smile. I rejoined polite society and learned how to wear a polite mask of interest whenever surrounded by the depthless ladies and lords. At least they were a distraction from the dryness of my life.

Jasper and I never talked unless it was absolutely necessary to do so. We were two strangers sharing the same house, living separate lives. After the events on his country estate he never again visited my bed. There was no conversation about Elizabeth or the stable boy. It was a tacit agreement that no good would come from discussing said subjects. Each passing day my mind was less occupied with thoughts of Jasper, he was fading away from my mind as he had from my heart.

My relationship with great-grandpapa was strained at best. When I returned to town he had seen fit to lecture me on propriety, condemning my distasteful show of emotion to a bastard, no less. Hearing his cutting remarks I stood and left him talking to himself. Sometime later he started visiting me, I was always polite but the warmth of our former relationship never returned. I could see he was hurt by my demeanour but I had nothing to offer, everything had died with Elizabeth.

Of course there was a lot of gossip; some really vicious tongues even accused me of murdering Elizabeth. Others were delighted to see my marriage fall apart, for it meant that both Jasper and I were fair game for the ton's unrelenting pursue for sexual gratification. I had heard rumours of his liaisons but I no longer cared, actually pitying any woman who wasted her charms on a sodomite.

I was still beautiful, the mirror told me. All the suffering I had endured left no outward marks on my face or body. Only if someone looked into my eyes it would be possible to see the difference, for no soul inhabited my body. However, no one cared enough to see under the surface, so I still was one of the most coveted women in London.

I was never lacking for dance partners and had I been willingly, I wouldn't be out of bed partners either. If by any chance Jasper and I were attending the same event, we behaved like the other couples, sharing a dance and going on our merry way, to see to our own enjoyments. It was a sad half existence, for every night when my head touched the pillow I would cry for all the things I had been deprived of. The worst burden of all was the certainty that things were not going to get better. That would be my life, until the end of my days.

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**See you later.**


	25. Dans les bras d'un autre

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I just steal her characters for my own warped purposes.**

Blog: .

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_"Sex is the consolation you have when you can't have love." - Gabriel García Márquez._

It happened when I was hosting a house party at Jasper's country estate, the final step on my descent towards the dark pits of self-awareness. His name was Jared Wolf, an American entrepreneur. Tall, dark and handsome he had been relentlessly chased by the women of the ton. However, I was the only one he paid attention to. I was flattered by it and entertained by his compliments, so I invited him to the house party.

There was a secret flower garden where Elizabeth and I used to spend a lot of time. I always began my mornings, whenever I was visiting, by wondering around it, remembering the sweet face of my angel. But a certain morning an unexpected guest joined me.

Jared locked the door to the secluded garden, effectively leaving us alone. There on the privacy afforded by the high walls I allowed him to seduce me. I will not deny how much I burned for his touch, how skilled he was. I opened my body to him and took my pleasure as he did his. He was sweet but also demanding and even though it was short, our interlude left me eager for more. The feelings I experienced were so much like the ones Jasper used to incite that for a few seconds I entertained the notion of being in love with Jared.

However, I realized I did not know him at all; he was nothing more than a stranger with whom I shared a meaningless tryst. After almost four years of marriage I finally understood the difference between love and lust. It was not something we were taught by tutors or that could be learned from books. The young misses were left ignorant and defenceless against rogues who had no qualms about using our own sexuality against us; like Jasper had done to me.

That day he became my lover and on his arms I found some contentment. All was well until he asked me to run away with him, professing his undying love, he made a thousand promises which were bond to be broken. I left his bed and his life determined to not fall into the same trap twice. I should have seem the desperation on my lover's eyes, for that had been his last attempt to escape the duel that would cost him his life, after all my cuckolded husband had been in the army.

Why Jasper bothered to call Jared out is a question I cannot answer. Nevertheless, I felt Jared's blood on my hands and his death weighted on my conscience. Jasper never commented on the incident, I only found out about the duel because of Lady Clearwater's vindictive tongue. But I no longer cared about gossip, because that day I buried who I thought I was and faced the woman I had become.

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**See you tomorrow.**


	26. Falaise

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I just steal her characters for my own warped purposes.**

Blog: thetruthsuntold(dot)blogspot(dot)com(dot)br

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_"People are like stained glass windows. They sparkle and shine when the sun is out, but when the darkness sets in, their true beauty is revealed only if there is a light from within." - Elizabeth Kubler-Ross._

Self-awareness ripped through me leaving only pain in its awake. From innocent English rose to adulterous wife, I had become exactly what every other woman of the ton was; and worse for a man's life had been reaped on my account. My innocence lost to truths hidden from the world, my dreams shattered by no fault of my own. I was a victim of circumstances, from my birth to my marriage I had been submitted to choices that were never my own. And for the first I understood my mother's pain, the prison of a life you did not choose.

So I ran, ran to her arms so she could catch me, stop me, save me. I went to the cliffs where her tired mind chose to end her own suffering, embracing the only choice she ever made. There I stood on the edge, watching the beckoning restlessness of the bottomless sea whilst the sky wept for me. It would be so easy to take a step out of the edge; all the noise would cease. Never again I would have to look at myself in the mirror and behold the monster I had become. There would only be the lulling peace of the sea and the eternal silence of the final sleep.

This brings me to this exact moment. I am ready to leave everything behind, the disillusioned wife, the barren mother, the loveless lover. But the sanity that deserted me since the news of Jared's death returns with a vengeance. I do not want to die, I just want to escape the world I have been living in. I want to erase my past and start anew without the burden of a sullied family and a marriage of convenience. I no longer want to carry the burden of other people choices. I want to be free to choose for myself, make my own errors and suffer the consequences of my own actions.

The Duchess of Whitlock has never been the real me, she is the culmination of her mother's efforts, her great-grandfather's probing and her husband's manipulation. The real me is the ferocious thing I have been fighting so hard to suppress, is the voice I chose to ignore, is the madness that wanted to defeat my reality. Isabella is not nice and accepting, she is not a girl afraid of defying rules, she is a woman ready to be free.

I am not my mother, for I have fire within my soul. Nobody will save me from the bleakness of my life, no prince is going to save me. At last I understand Marcus' words of so long ago. I'm going to rescue myself.

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**See you later.**


	27. Décision

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I just steal her characters for my own warped purposes.**

Blog: thetruthsuntold(dot)blogspot(dot)com(dot)br

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"_...I will exile my thoughts if they think of you again, and I will rip my lips out if they say your name once more. Now if you do exist, I will tell you my final word in life or in death, I tell you goodbye." - Knut Hamsun._

The last time I crossed the channel I was a foolish girl, my head running wild with illusions. Now, I am a woman with an uncertain future, but I could not be happier about it. I have said my goodbyes and now I feel free to be who I am.

The money I got for my jewels will be enough to support myself for at least a couple of years. I was a very bad girl and sold not only my personal jewels but also the jewels of the Duchess. I think I deserve a little compensation for all I had to endure while married to Jasper. I thought about confronting my husband and getting the answers to my questions, but I abandoned that notion. Whatever he had to tell me could only be more distasteful than the little I already know, so I decided not to taint myself with his past. Whatever might be said about me, I tried to be a good wife. I married Jasper out of love for him, but I left my husband out of love for myself. I made a promise to never think of Jasper again, leaving him a letter and a single daffodil on top of it.

As for my family, I visited great-grandpapa and told him how much he means to me even though he was partially to blame for my predicament. He looked at me strangely and then smiled sadly saying that I was just like her. Great-grandpapa did not clarify who he was referring to, he just hugged me tightly and wished me luck. Both of us knew we would never meet again. Despite everything I am aware that I will forever miss the old man.

I visited Elizabeth's grave and promised my baby that wherever mommy went she would be in my heart. I wouldn't be bringing her flowers anymore, so I planted daisies around her grave. She was an angel and even in death she deserved to be surrounded by beauty. One day we will be together again, but until then my simple offer of daisies will have to do.

My last stop was at the cliffs where my mother took her own life and where I believe she saved mine. For a long time I just stood there trying to forgive her for all she had done to Jacob and me. I understood her better but I wasn't ready to let go of my hurt, but I hope that one day I will.

In England I left my father's sordid deeds, my mother's madness and my husband's lies. I am no longer a daughter or a wife. I am Isabella and I am mine.

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**AN: **Daffodils symbolize unrequited love and if it's a single daffodil it also means misfortune. Daisies symbolize innocence and purity.

**See you tomorrow.**


	28. Ma vie sans toi

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I just steal her characters for my own warped purposes.**

Blog: thetruthsuntold(dot)blogspot(dot)com(dot)br

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**_Two years later..._**

"_We are our choices." - Jean-Paul Sartre._

Loud voices coming from the tables announce that this is going to be a good night for business. The play is deep and the avid demimondes are already surrounding the most promising prospects. From afar I discreetly signal which men they should prey upon, my uncanny senses have been proved sound through the years. The money the men win at the hazard tables is expediently lost to the women they celebrate with.

I circulate among the crowd, never really mingling. Maintaining my aura of mystery is a good part of the allure my gaming hell holds for the refined men of le bon ton. I see the desire on their eyes, the eagerness to be the one to uncover the secrets of La Belle, a woman without name or past. However, Madame La Belle never cavorts with the clientele; she is a business woman who provides a safe environment for men to lose their fortunes and their "virtue".

Yes, I employ_ belles-du-noit_, but make no mistake, all women are whores; some sell their body for food, some sell their dignity for a name. But I escaped such dreary destiny by rejecting the rules of the world and creating my own. And now I provide women with a safe environment where they can earn their living, for we are woman and very few have the strength to defy their assigned roles in life.

My bodily urges are taken care of on a regular basis by the grace of a very skilled prostitué that attends to my every command. It is perversely satisfying to have a man submit to me after all the submission I had done to the males in my life. Paul is a delicious lover and very discreet, everything I require on a bed partner.

I don't think of the things I left behind but sometimes I wonder if I would have had the courage to break out of my shell if my husband had loved me. Maybe I would still be thinking myself mad or worst I would have lost my mind due to the strain of trying to be the image of perfection. On some philosophical level I should be grateful about everything I had been subjected to, but I am not that kind. I would like to have known the nurturing of a mother, the protection of a father and the love of a husband. I would have liked to have been encouraged by great-grandpapa instead of have my wings torn.

But life is not a dream or a fairytale; we are only people trying to do the best we can, stumbling through life without a plan or direction. Most of us do well enough, whilst others spread devastation wherever they go, mostly because they are not ready to accept themselves. Unfortunately, I had been one of those but my eyes were opened in time to salvage at least some part of myself.

We are our choices and I choose to be free.

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**See you later.**


	29. Vivre à nouveau

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I just steal her characters for my own warped purposes.**

Blog: .

**AN: **Originally this was supposed to be Jasper's chapter, however I inverted the order. Up next we have two chapter's told from our "hero's" point of view.

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"_Real love stories never have endings." - Richard Bach._

It was out of the blue as most things are. He came in with a friend who thought that coming to a establishment such as mine would be the perfect way to re-enter society after mourning the death of his wife. The friend as well intentioned as he was could not have been more wrong, for he looked out of place, uncomfortable, ready to flee.

I was nothing if not a good hostess, so I swallowed my amusement and went to the newcomer, fully intending to set him at ease. I turned on my charming persona, looked at his eyes and lost myself inside the brown depths of my Jacob. Overwhelmed by emotion, I could not move or say anything. But I did not have to, he simply took me into his arms and never let me go.

Being with Jacob felt right, like a piece of me that had been returned to its rightful place. With Jasper I felt almost complete, almost love. On Jacob's arms there was no almost, I was sure and happy. I met his beautiful two year old son, Thomas, and his loving father, James. I was so relieved to realize that we indeed were not siblings since my feelings for him were not fraternal. We left France and married on Italy; on the eyes of the Catholic Church I had never been married, besides I did not use my real name, I could not risk being found. There we raised his son who soon became mine too; no other children were gifted to us, but our little family was happy and close.

Love found me when I had already become cynical and disillusioned, but I realized that real love can cure all wounds. We had loved each other as children, as adults we led separate lives but nobody can escape destiny, and my destiny has always been Jacob as his has always been me.

Now, we are old and happily sharing the same cottage where we have been living in for the past forty years. Our grandchildren and great-grandchildren often visit, they keep us young or at least as young as an old couple can hope to be.

Sometime ago I decided to write down the story of my life, so that the lesson I learned do not get lost on the sands of time. I want my family to know the truth about me, for I learned that openness is the only way to lead a healthy life. Every night I read my Memoirs to my dear husband who has lost a good portion of his sight. But it does not matter because we have each other, and his flaws are compensated by my strengths and vice-versa.

Against all odds I found love and happiness and all because I chose not to play by anyone's rules but my own.

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**See you tomorrow.**


	30. Décision II

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I just steal her characters for my own warped purposes.**

Blog: thetruthsuntold(dot)blogspot(dot)com(dot)br

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**Jasper's point of view**

"_May the road rise up to meet you, may the wind be ever at your back. May the sun shine warm upon your face and the rain fall softly on your fields. And until we meet again, May God hold you in the hollow of his hand." - Irish Blessing._

She was supposed to be dead, but my eyes did not deceive me. My wife had not taken her own life. By chance, I saw her while visiting a cousin in Italy. I felt overjoyed, for it meant I could have the chance to redeem myself and finally be the husband she deserved. Hope lasted until I saw her on the arms of another man and she smiled at him. Not the trite smile she used to direct at me, but a real one that spoke of happiness and love. I would have fought for her if he had not come to see me.

James had once been my lover and had it not been for Edward, maybe I could have fallen for him. He told me the sad tale of a _demimonde_ who had her son snatched away by the vilest man I had ever known, Lord Cullen, Isabella's father. The woman died on James' arms; he promised her that he would find her son. And he did, Jacob, the man I saw Isabella with, was said child. But the most shocking piece of information came at the end, Jacob was my son, my bastard. Jacob was unaware of his parentage; protected from the harsh truth by the lies James had carefully crafted. By the end of his rant I was too worn out to rage or ask questions, I needed time to digest the information.

In the end the decision was quite simple. Everybody was happy, but me. So I made the only decent choice possible and took myself away from their lives. I never said goodbye to James, for there was nothing left to be said. I will forever keep the image of the happy couple and the love shinning from their eyes. And to preserve their love I kept my silence, I owed them that much.

Isabella was the love of my heart. She was beautiful and sweet, so untainted by the uglier side of life. But I had destroyed her by my callousness and my inability to be thankful for what I had. It all comes down to Edward, the love of my soul. I was thirteen when we fell in love and from then on my life had taken a path I did not desire or crave.

I loved Edward with all my heart, but I had other dreams. Dreams of a family and a beautiful wife to whom I would make love like God had intended men to. To my shame I admit that I would have kept Edward as my lover even after getting married; that was the plan he thwarted by leaving me without a word. And I missed him so much that I lashed out at Bella. I took men to my bed so that I could for a second believe that Edward was there with me.

By wanting both, I lost my heart and my soul.

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**AN1: **Wondering why Jasper thought Bella was dead? The answer is coming on the first Outtake – "Le gran-père".

**AN2: **Wondering why James pretended to be Jacob's father? Why he never told Jasper about Jacob? The answer is on Chapter 3 of my other story _"Perception"_. Following, I transcribed the paragraph where we learned James' reasoning:

"_It took years for James to fulfil his promise, but he never gave up. The name of the man who fathered the child was never revealed to him, however one glance at the boy and James simply knew the love of his life _(Jasper) _had sired Jacob. James recognized what should be done, the boy should be delivered to his father. Gazing at the defenceless child, for the first time in years James disregarded the call of duty and honour and made a selfish choice. He would be the most wonderful father to Jacob, forever loving and protecting him, for he was the only part of Jasper he was allowed to retain. The boy would want for nothing and neither would James, since he finally would have a family."_

**See you later.**


	31. Ma vie sans toi II

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I just steal her characters for my own warped purposes.**

Blog: .

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**Jasper's point of view**

"_Things that were hard to bear are sweet to remember." - Seneca._

She was in my dreams again, crying over the dead body of a daughter I could not love, for she was born out of her mother's greed. And as I had done in real life I kept my distance, believing that she did not want my comfort. Suddenly, it was dawn and there was blood on my hands. My heart ravaged by jealousy, my body aching with guilt. But the worst was still to come. Edward simply stared at me with tears on his eyes. He never said a word, simply turned his back on me and walked away. I yelled and pleaded but he never came back.

Every night I would wake up sweating and crying yearning for things I wasn't entitled to. Every morning I opened the drawer were I kept the petals of a withered daffodil and read the note she left me: "One day I will forgive you", it said. But I can never forgive myself for dragging her into the filth that surrounded me. Worst of all, I pushed my soulmate away because I did not have the strength to break free from the mould I had been expected to fulfill. Isabella was healed by the love of her soulmate, for I recognized the bond they shared having experienced it myself.

But what of Edward? I was his soulmate, no doubt about that. Has he found the love of his heart, like I found mine in Isabella? Is it enough to obliterate the hole left by the absence of the love of his soul? It hadn't been enough for me, but I fervently prayed for Edward to find at least some contentment with whoever he chose to share his life with.

As for me, there is no hope for happiness and no chance of redemption. I lost my heart and soul, with them went my conscience and the will to be a better man. So I indulge in all the wicked pursuits the bored aristocracy used to assuage their ennui. I am nothing if not a rogue, a heartless, soulless man who destroyed the two people he claimed to love; a man incapable of tender feelings towards his own children, one disregarded as a nuisance, the other forever ignorant of his past.

I'm the Duke of Whitlock and I'm a man of my time; bound by rules I do not understand but do not dare to question, incapable of loving without destroying, my affections dictated by rules of etiquette and behaviour, praying to a God who never answers. Happiness is a luxury I cannot afford for it would distract me from my purpose in life: to take care of the family's fortune and produce an heir. But I won't bring a child into this miserable life, that being my one act of rebellion.

Underneath the title and the name, I'm just a man tortured by memories of happiness and visions of what might have been.

_**Fin**_

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**AN: **There are still three Outtakes coming up tomorrow. I realize that it is difficult to review a drabble, but since it is now completed I'm asking for your opinion. Thank you very much, I hope you enjoyed.


	32. Outtake 1 Le granpère

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I just steal her characters for my own warped purposes.**

Blog: thetruthsuntold(dot)blogspot(dot)com(dot)br

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"_...one of the roles of man is to shut his eyes and keep them shut to see if he can continue into the night of his old age the dream curtailed in the night of his youth." - Machado de Assis._

She is just like her. Isabella has the same spirit, intelligence and beauty that my daughter did. Over fifty years ago I failed Aline by shunning her from my company when she chose to marry a man I did not approve off. On the fringes of society, my poor Aline withered and died. But my Isabella is a fighter, her strength shines from her eyes and even though she never used the words I knew she was saying goodbye; I could hear the finality on every word she said.

I won't fail Isabella. She did not ask for my help but I know she will need it. Despite her beliefs I know that, unless he believes her dead, the Duke is going to look for her. So I fabricated a story about a final goodbye and arranged for a body to be found by the same cliffs where her mother killed herself. The fact that Isabella visited the place before leaving England only added to the story's credibility. The coachman who drove her, the only servant who could disprove my allegation, was given a handsome amount of money and departed to the colonies.

Now, I stand by the grave of a stranger trying to manufacture a feel tears for the spectators' benefit. It is not easy but a feel roll down my face. Her husband looks haggard and guilty. Good. I had trusted him with my most prized jewel and he treated her poorly. Yeas, I had known about his debauched past but he had guaranteed me that she would never be tainted by it. I should have known better.

I'm an old man with many regrets to speak of. Many lives suffered under the power of my prejudice and anger. One day soon I will be appearing before the all mighty to answer for my sins, in my defence there is only this lie I told for Isabella. On the eleventh hour I came through for my girl. She taught me how to love again and to accept that nobody is perfect, especially not me. And from above or from beneath I will try to watch over her, for she is truly an admirable woman. I just wish I could have told her so.

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**See you later.**


	33. Outtake 2 Pardon

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I just steal her characters for my own warped purposes.**

Blog: thetruthsuntold(dot)blogspot(dot)com(dot)br

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_"I__sabella,_

_There is so much I could tell you, but I will settle for saying I'm sorry. My flaws hurt you and my callousness broke your heart. I will offer you no excuses for my behaviour, there is none. You were the most innocent and pure woman I have ever known and I destroyed everything I most admired about you. But you survived and rebuilt your life and for that I'm grateful, for it is a relief to realize that I did not break your soul or destroyed your ability to love. I have seen you and your current "husband"; the love you two share is a beautiful thing, cherish it, my darling._

_I wrote a will leaving you all the money and unentailed properties I own. Since you are believed to be dead and I see no reason to disabuse the ton of this notion, Mrs. Belle Hunter, as you are currently known, will be a very rich woman by the time this letter reaches you. It is a rather cynical compensation for all the pain I caused you, but it is all I have to offer. In case you are wondering, I decided to cut short my own existence by drowning my weary body._

_Despite everything I put you through, a part of me always loved you. _

_Jasper__."_

Tears spilled from my eyes, for as succinct as Jasper was I still could feel his pain. I never understood Jasper and never will, but I was finally ready to let go of my anger and on that moment I forgave him.

"_The weak can never forgive. Forgiveness is the attribute of the strong." – Mahatma Gandhi._

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**See you later.**


	34. Outtake 3 Le bâtard

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I just steal her characters for my own warped purposes.**

Blog: thetruthsuntold(dot)blogspot(dot)com(dot)br

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"_For all I offer is my warmth, my address, your child's life from ending to beginning." – Angela Rô-Rô and Ana Terra._

I dreamed of her every night, entwined on the nightmares of a former life, my angel comforted me on her warm embrace. Through the years she had changed from a little girl to a grown woman; she gave me my first kiss and to her I lost my virginity. She welcomed me in her body and we became one, as we were meant to be all along. But my dream life could never come to pass, she was born a lady and I was born the son of a prostitute, my father a humble doctor.

I tried to move on from her. I was not willing to seek the favours of a professional, since I did not want to take the chance to sire a _bâtard_. My father called himself a widower so that I would never be discriminated against, but I still remember the cutting remarks of my angel's mother, no child deserved the burden of bastardy. So, I got married and the only positive experience it brought me was my son, Thomas. Leah was a bitter woman who resented my lack of ambition, for I was studying to be a doctor and follow my father's example. She exacted her revenge on a monstrous way: by refusing to push our second child into the world. She bled to death and so did the child. I was away, otherwise I would have cut the shrew opened and saved, at least, my baby girl.

Despite everything, I mourned Leah because my little boy would miss her dearly; every child needs the warm embrace of a mother. Little did I know that my boy would not be deprived of motherly affection, for one day out of the blue my angel walked into my life again. More precisely, a friend dragged me to _La Belle's_ gaming hell; the owner was supposed to be the most beautiful and enigmatic woman on Paris. My Bella had finally come back to me.

The first time I took her on my arms I knew I could never let her go, she was mine as I was hers. I made sure she met Dad, so that he could reassure her we were not blood related. I won't deny that I was eager to take her to my bed and do all the things I fantasized about. But first, I took her to meet Thomas. I was apprehensive about the meeting; I could not take a wife that did not go along with my son, even if she was the love of my life. But my fears were unfounded, she folded her arms around Thomas and his tiny hands embraced her neck. She was a mother without a child, he was a child without a mother and they completed each other.

We righted what life had distorted and lived our happily ever after.

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******This is it. Thank you so much for reading, please gift me with a review.**


	35. Outtake 4 Dans un champ de marguerites

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I just steal her characters for my own warped purposes.**

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"_I go to seek a Great Perhaps." ― François Rabelais_

The few daisies of thirty five years ago turned into a field of serene beauty, a delicate token to Elizabeth's innocence and purity. In the warmth of Jacob's embrace I gaze at my baby's resting place, feeling the raw pain of loss that not even time can lessen. Comforted by my husband's silent support, I drown in the bittersweet memories of my long lost daughter. The feeling of hugging her tiny body, smelling her baby powder and hearing her carefree giggles, consume my mind and burn my soul. Unbidden, tears blur my vision, materializing the anguish tearing at my heart.

At the sound of approaching steps, I try to regain my composure but Jacob shakes his head and kisses my temple. Turning to my family, Thomas hugs me tightly while the others wait for their turn. My four grandchildren and two great-grandchildren made the long trip to England just to make my fondest dream come true. The sight of a much anticipated family reunion heals my soul, for there is no greatest gift to a mother than the opportunity to be with all of her children.

Regaling them with the memories of my time with Elizabeth, I notice the enraptured expressions on their faces. These are stories I have told a thousand times, but their interest esteem from tender emotions, it is not an act designed to please. It fascinates me, their ability to love someone they never met. That's what makes my family so special: the way they love without limits or demands. They have learned it from Jacob, my soul mate, the man I'm proud to call my husband.

Thomas, my beloved son, sheds more than one tear for the sister he never met. It is heartbreakingly beautiful the way he tells her all the things he wishes they had shared. Overwhelmed by emotion, he is no longer able to voice his thoughts. Even my grandchildren went through the trouble of saying a few words. My great-grandchildren, still too small to understand the commotion, are happily teasing each other when they think nobody is looking. We are the unfashionable kind of family, for we are close and unafraid to show our affection.

Surrounded by love, I'm ready to accept my fate. Aware that my ailing body will soon succumb to the demands of death, I take the time to look at all of their faces. Despite the sadness of having to part with their company, I am also thankful for all the years I had with them. Tears glisten in Jacob's eyes, for he realizes the finality of the moment. Whispering his devotion, he touches his lips to mine. So light is the moment that I barely notice the transition. At the sound of her voice calling for me, I realize that my essence has been freed from my body. But it no longer signifies because Elizabeth is waiting for me.

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**AN: **Thank you for reading.


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